We bought a new bed. I know, not so exciting for you, but still. When you consider how many hours of your life you spend in your bed, this is a big deal.
Not only did we buy a new bed, but I’m now sleeping on the other side.
For pretty much all our married life, I’ve slept on the right side. This was determined in our first house because I wanted to be closest to the bathroom (I’m a girl). And then it made sense because I was closest to the door – so the kids could reach me first. For some reason, that was a priority back in the day.
So, for twenty years I’ve slept on the right side. Neither of us gave it a thought – even when staying in hotels or friends’ houses, I always took to the right side of the bed.
But then we went on vacation in February and rented a lovely condo on the beach in Grand Cayman (to celebrate aforementioned twenty years). This condo was tastefully decorated and in the bedroom there were several breakable pieces of art teetering on a rickety corner cabinet and a dresser in this room with a ceramic tile floor (either they were cheap breakable pieces of art or we were the first people EVER to rent this condo). The bed was large and lovely and consumed most of the room. From the right side of the bed there was a long and winding path to the bathroom that took you past several of these pieces of art, plus a chair with corners. So, for the first time in my married life, I chose the LEFT side of the bed which had a direct path to the door/bathroom with nothing but my own feet to trip over or break (there was a step-down involved so this was still a distinct possibility).
Sleeping on the left side was odd. It felt novel and kind of fun. For a moment it seemed like I was sleeping with someone new – who is this guy on my left?
When we came home I decided to stay on the left. (We’re wild like that.) It still feels odd. But I like the new perspective.
Back to the new bed. I don’t like the bed. It doesn’t sit up high like the last bed. And it’s not soft and cushy. Plus, it’s a king size bed so sometimes I forget there’s anyone else in the bed with me.
I miss my comfy pillow-top, princess-height, queen size bed which now resides in my guest room. We had a guest last week and I was actually jealous that she got to sleep in it.
The new bed is fancy and modern and has all kinds of high-tech features. When we were picking it out, we had to lie on a “sleep evaluator” which recommended the best bed for your size and sleep habits. Nick and I lay on the mock bed/sleep evaluator, completely dressed while it took measurements and the sales guy blabbered on about its amazing abilities. But here’s the only thing he said that I remember – “When you use this system to pick out your bed it comes with a 90-day money back guarantee.” As if anyone ever returns a king-size uber-fancy bed.
Sometimes when I wake up at night and can’t sleep because I’m on the wrong side, all alone, on this squatty hard bed, I think – I’m gonna haul this baby back TOMORROW!
But I don’t.
Because it’s supposed to be good for me, much like kale – which I’ve learned to love and now eat every week.
I’ve still got about 30 days to make my decision. Hubby says, “We can return it, but I like it.”
So it’s my problem. It’s my decision.
I’m weighing the options here. First there’s all those hours of my life spent on this bed which the sales guy says will last 30 years. That’s like 87,600 hours. Of. My. Life.
If it didn’t require two large men to move it, and I didn’t know they are legally obligated to throw it out, there would be no question.
A bed is a lot worse than a few plastic bags in terms of filling up the land fill.
Here’s hoping this bed is kale, because the clock is ticking, and the guy on my left is no help.
(When I started this post it was going to be about how sometimes when you get stuck writing, all you need is a new perspective, but somehow it has spiraled into my personal whine about my bed. Maybe I’m distracted?)